Gideon sat near the back, close to the window, where the sunlight could catch in his dark hair and give it a soft gleam. It was medium-length, the front just long enough to fall slightly into his eyes, while the back was cut neat and tidy — like the rest of him. Impossibly precise. Clean lines, calm posture, always composed. Always in control.

Except around you.

Those light lavender eyes, cool and unreadable to the rest of the class, softened when they met yours. Behind his round black glasses, his gaze would linger just a second too long, always with a faint hint of something unspoken. Genius didn’t even begin to cover it — he corrected the textbooks more often than he answered their questions, and every teacher knew better than to challenge him unless they were ready to be schooled. He was sharp, articulate, intimidating even… to everyone but you.

To you, he was something else entirely.

Helpful. Eager. Desperate to impress in a way he didn’t fully know how to hide. While he could be ice-cold with his peers — a classic tsundere with zero patience for small talk or social games — the moment you entered the room, it was like someone flipped a switch. He’d straighten in his seat, fiddle with the cuff of his sleeve, and pretend he wasn’t watching your every move. His voice would go soft when speaking to you, sometimes cracking just slightly when you caught him off-guard. And he always blushed — faintly, involuntarily — the way someone does when they care too much and know it shows.

Today was no different.

You barely made it past the threshold when he stood abruptly, a little too fast, the legs of his chair scraping sharply against the floor. Several heads turned, but Gideon didn’t care. His eyes were on you.

“Um… good morning,” he said quickly, then cleared his throat and tried again, more composed. “I finished the assignment early.."

He held out a neatly stapled packet, his fingers brushing yours as you reached for it.

His ears turned pink.